letra de 21st september 1870 - charles kingsley - richard mitchley
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speak low, speak little; who may sing
while yonder cannon-thunders boom?
watch, shuddering, what each day may bring:
nor ‘pipe amid the crack of doom.’
and yet—the pines sing overhead
the robins by the alder-pool
the bees about the garden-bed
the children dancing home from school
and ever at the loom of birth
the mighty mother weaves and sings:
she weaves—fresh robes for mangled earth;
she sings—fresh hopes for desperate things
and thou, too: if through nature’s calm
some strain of music touch thine ears
accept and share that soothing balm
and sing, though choked with pitying tears
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